


Love Sick

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Love Confessions, M/M, dumbos in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>From: Enjolras</b><br/>Running out on me for the second time is uncalled for. I asked you out nicely. With flowers.</p><p><b>From: Enjolras</b><br/>I am asking nicely because Combeferre says all my other plans suck.</p><p>(Or, the one where Enjolras tries to get Grantaire to date him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Sick

**Author's Note:**

> For [besanii](http://besanii.tumblr.com), who isn't feeling well today. Feel better, bb!

**To: Eponine**  
ep fuck i had this dream last night about enjolras

 **From: Eponine**  
dnw to know about your dirty dreams

 **To: Eponine**  
god no 

**To: Eponine**  
wtf

 **To: Eponine**  
he asked me out on a date it felt so real christ i need a drink

 **From: Eponine**  
it’s 10am on friday ffs

 **From: Eponine**  
i’ll be there in 10 with whiskey

—

Grantaire dreams about Enjolras a lot. 

He tries to keep his attraction for Enjolras as subtle as possible, forces himself to tear his gaze away from Enjolras when it feels like he’s been staring too long, keeps a distance from Enjolras when he can, acts drunker than he actually is just so he has an excuse for riling Enjolras up just to feel the full force of Enjolras’ attentions on him, but this is the one thing he cannot control. 

He cannot stop himself from dreaming about Enjolras, dreaming about Enjolras holding his hand or kissing his lips or just fucking _smiling_ at him, and so he doesn’t even bother trying to pretend that he doesn’t enjoy it. He wakes up most mornings achingly hard in his pants with the phantom warmth of Enjolras’ smile still coursing in his veins, and it’s enough, it is, because he doesn’t need Enjolras to return his affections. 

It’s easier like this, to have Enjolras in dreams, and not have to worry about disappointing Enjolras even more than he does on a regular basis just by _existing_. At least in dreams when it goes bad, he can just wake up. It’s easier like this, and much better for his heart. 

—

Les Amis meet every Thursday and Sunday at the Musain, and Grantaire never misses a meeting, rain or shine, drunk or sober. He’s looking forward to the meeting today, actually. For one, he’s got a design sketched out for a new tattoo and wants Feuilly’s insights on it. Also, Marius met Cosette’s father for dinner on Saturday, and there’s bound to be some interesting stories from that. It’s shaping up to be a good meeting, and Grantaire is looking forwards to it, that is until he steps into the Musain and Enjolras—

Enjolras is carrying a bouquet of roses.

He’s scowling at Jehan, who looks like they are cooing over him, and Courfeyrac is patting Enjolras on the back and looking very proud of him, and Grantaire is still trying to figure out why Enjolras would be carrying a bouquet of roses large than his head (bouncy curls and all) when Enjolras stalks towards him, looking determined.

He’s still gaping at Enjolras when Enjolras reaches him and thrusts the bouquet out to him.

“What,” Grantaire says, because _what_.

“For you,” Enjolras says gruffly, looking uncomfortable, and Grantaire doesn’t know who put him up to this, but it’s not funny, Christ, it’s _so_ not funny that he thinks he might actually have to run back to his apartment to cry about it for a bit. It must show on his face because Enjolras’ face softens into something gentler, and adds, “I will hold them out throughout the meeting if you don’t take them now.”

And okay, Grantaire has fallen into an alternate universe, that must be it. 

“Okay, I have fallen into an alternate universe,” Grantaire says, because it’s justifiable that his brain-to-mouth filter isn’t working right now. “Why are you giving me flowers? What the fuck is going on?”

Enjolras frowns. “I meant what I said on Thursday night,” he says lowly, because they can both see Courfeyrac inching very unsubtly towards them in an attempt to eavesdrop.

Grantaire stares at him blankly. 

“I want to take you out on a date,” Enjolras says, and the blush that spreads over his cheeks and down his neck is gorgeous. Grantaire wants to reach out to trace the trajectory of his blush, wants to see where it ends, wants to see if he can make Enjolras do that again, but what. “And I will prove to you that I do, I will keep showing you that I do until you believe me.”

And Christ, the words sound familiar, Grantaire has heard it somewhere before. Enjolras said the exact same words to him in his last dream—

Which, okay, wow, probably wasn’t a dream after all, was it? He did actually go to Enjolras’ house to show him the design for the flyers for the rally, and Enjolras did ask him out, and he did freak out about it. 

He stares at Enjolras, still looking at him and holding out the roses, still blushing and looking so earnest, and does the most logical thing to do. 

He lets out a horrified squeak and runs away.

—

 **From: Enjolras**  
Running out on me for the second time is uncalled for. I asked you out nicely. With flowers.

 **From: Enjolras**  
I am asking nicely because Combeferre says all my other plans suck.

 **From: Enjolras**  
I have plenty of other plans. 

**From: Enjolras**  
You’re going to love all of them.

 **From: Enjolras**  
I am taking you out on that date, Grantaire, it’s happening, you don’t get to say no.

 **From: Enjolras**  
(You do get to say no, that wasn’t what I meant. I value your consent very highly. I know you like me back, and if you’d just agree to go on a date with me, I’ll show you that we can be great together.)

—

Joly and Bossuet both come over to his apartment (with beer, because they are amazing friends like that) after the meeting, with strict promises that they wouldn’t try to talk to him about it.

“So,” Bossuet says, the moment Grantaire closes the door after them, “about Enjolras.”

Grantaire groans. 

“He was very distraught after you left,” Joly tells Grantaire, completely unsympathetic. “Combeferre had to take over the meeting after Enjolras lost his train of thought the third time.”

“He spent the rest of the meeting scowling at his phone, typing what I assume to be furious messages to who I assume to be you,” Bossuet continues. 

“Get out,” Grantaire groans, flopping facedown onto his couch. “I hate the both of you.”

Joly and Bossuet don’t leave, just settle down into their usual seats, and pop open their bottles of beer. Grantaire can feel their gaze on him, and it’s unnerving, Joly and Bossuet are the worst, why did he think that letting them come here would be a good idea? 

“R,” Joly says. “Enjolras asked you out, why aren’t you saying yes?”

His reply is muffled by the cushions on the couch, and that is all for the better, because he isn’t trying to reply to Joly so much as he is asking God to let the ground swallow him whole.

“You’ve liked him for ages,” Bossuet adds, and Grantaire’s head shoots up from where it’s buried in the cushion to look at Bossuet, eyes wide with surprise. 

Joly snickers. 

“Was that supposed to be a secret?” Bossuet asks seriously. “Was it not common knowledge?”

Grantaire presses his face back into the couch and screams. 

—

The bouquet of flowers Enjolras got him is sitting on his doorstep when he opens the door to let Joly and Bossuet out, and he glares at them until they leave, thankfully not saying anything, before he picks the flowers up and brings them in.

Then he spends an hour painting them, because fuck, he might not know what game Enjolras is trying to play with him here, but the flowers are gorgeous, and it’s essentially the first bouquet he’s ever gotten from _anyone_ , and it deserves to be commemorated, even if it all turns out to be a sick joke Enjolras is playing on him.

—

There is a stuffed teddy bear sitting on top of a box of Grantaire’s favourite chocolates the next morning. Grantaire pretends not to see them for about twenty seconds before he caves and takes them into his apartment, and spends the next twenty or so minutes pacing in his living room, wondering who put Enjolras up to this. 

He doesn’t come up with any feasible theory, because Enjolras doesn't just simply cower to anyone else’s wishes. 

He doesn’t know what to make of it.

—

Enjolras sends Gavroche over with heart-shaped balloons on Tuesday.

Gavroche doesn’t stop teasing him for the two hours he stays at Grantaire’s apartment while Eponine is out on her date with Montparnasse, but mostly because Grantaire doesn’t stop staring at the balloons and wondering if Enjolras got hit in the head.

—

He’s just made the decision not to go to the meeting at the Musain on Thursday when his doorbell rings. He opens the door, expecting Eponine, only to see Enjolras. 

He chokes on his breath, because Enjolras is wearing a red-leather jacket in lieu of his favourite red hoodie, and fits Enjolras perfectly, snug at the shoulders, and Grantaire _loves_ Enjolras’ shoulders. From the smirk on Enjolras’ face, Enjolras _knows_ that, and Christ, he really needs to sit down and reevaluate how unsubtle he thought he was being with his attraction for Enjolras.

“I’m here to walk you to the meeting,” Enjolras says, leaning against the frame of the door. 

“I’m not going to the meeting,” Grantaire says, when he manages to look away from Enjolras. “I’m down with flu.” He coughs for emphasis. 

Enjolras looks at him for a long moment, eyebrows drawn together, looking like he’s trying to figure out if Grantaire is worth all his effort, and Grantaire has a brief moment of panic before he smothers it out, because of course Enjolras will find him wanting and move on, Grantaire is doomed to be in unrequited love with Enjolras forever, that’s how it’s supposed to be. 

So of course Enjolras just shrugs and says, “Then I’ll stay with you to make sure you’re alright.” He takes his phone out and types a message. “I’ll ask Combeferre to oversee the meeting. Are you going to let me in?”

Grantaire gurgles something that isn’t quite a reply, but Enjolras just steps in anyway, putting himself too close for comfort to Grantaire, and Grantaire has no choice but to back away to let him in. 

Enjolras shrugs off his jacket the moment he’s in Grantaire’s apartment, which would have been a good thing, because goddamn, Enjolras in leather is not a sight he’s going to be able to forget easily now, except that the white t-shirt he’s wearing underneath the jacket is threadbare and tight, and Grantaire doesn’t know if he wants Enjolras to put his jacket on, or take it off, or to just strip naked and let him do dirty things to him, or—

“Fuck,” Grantaire says. “You need to go, I really don’t feel well, I might be contagious. What would Joly say?”

And that turns out to be the wrong thing to say, because Enjolras steps closer to him to press the back of his hand to Grantaire’s forehead, taking his temperature. 

“You do feel a little warm,” Enjolras says, frowning. His eyebrows are furrowed in concern _for Grantaire_ , and Grantaire doesn’t know what to do right now except to gape at him. “Do you want to go lie down? I could make you some soup.”

The idea of Enjolras in his kitchen, making soup for him, is ridiculously appealing. Grantaire squashes it down, because that isn’t going to happen. Domesticity isn’t Enjolras’ thing, and even if it were, it wouldn’t be _their_ thing, because _they_ are not happening. 

“You said that my consent is important,” Grantaire says firmly. “I do not want you in my apartment right now.”

Enjolras’ frown only grows. “Why?”

“Because!” Grantaire yells, flailing his hands. “Are you trying to get me to qualify my lack of consent, are you really?”

“No!” Enjolras says. “Of course not! It’s just— You’re not feeling well. At least let me put you to bed? I’ll leave after that, I promise.” 

Enjolras has that look on his face, the one where his lips pinch down whenever things don’t go according to plan, and he’s disappointed, but determined to make the best out of things. Grantaire could either insist that he leave right now, and risk having Enjolras send more people over to make sure that he’s alright, or he could just let Enjolras put him to bed, before getting up and drinking himself silly. 

He chooses the easy way, even if it might turn out to be the stupid way, and heads for his bedroom, knowing without having to look back that Enjolras will follow. 

He plans to just flop onto bed and let Enjolras do his thing, pull his covers over him and make sure there’s a glass of water on his bedside table or something, but Enjolras stops him with a hand on his wrist. 

“Can I undress you?” Enjolras asks, voice low. 

Grantaire forgets how to breathe.

“ _What_.”

“Would you not be more comfortable in bed without your jeans on?” Enjolras asks, conversational, _reasonable_ , even as his fingers tug at the hem of the jumper Grantaire is wearing, and how is he doing this, _why_ is he doing this to Grantaire. 

“I can undress myself,” Grantaire chokes out, because he has more dignity than this. He won’t play into Enjolras’ hand, not when it’s becoming more and more like Enjolras is playing a very bad joke on him. 

Enjolras watches as he shucks off his shirt and kicks off his pants. Grantaire is aware of Enjolras’ eyes on him, just as he is aware of how close Enjolras is, and it makes him shiver in something that could be anticipation. 

“You’re shivering,” Enjolras says immediately, and then his hand is on Grantaire’s lower back, guiding him towards the bed. “You _are_ actually sick, aren’t you?” He sounds actually worried. 

Grantaire doesn’t reply, because he cannot trust himself to speak. Even breathing takes a lot of effort right now. 

“You’re always looking out for everyone else,” Enjolras says, pushing Grantaire down on the bed. “You make sure Gavroche eats, and Eponine rests, and Bahorel sleeps. You take care to remind Joly and Bossuet when they’ve been drinking too much. You remind Marius to take his lactase pills before he eats pizzas. You take care of everyone else in all the different ways, but you don’t take care of yourself. It’s… _frustrating_ to watch.” He pulls the covers over Grantaire. “Ask me why.”

Grantaire swallows. “Why?”

The smile that blooms over Enjolras’ face is difficult to watch because all Grantaire wants to do is to trace Enjolras’ lips (preferably with his tongue) and draw him, to immortalise this moment on paper, so that he remembers that it happened, so he doesn't brush it off as a dream.

“Because it makes me want to take care of you,” Enjolras says softly, and his face is close, close enough that Grantaire can feel Enjolras’ breath on him, close enough that if he just surges up, he would be able to press their lips together. “I love you,” Enjolras breathes out, and Grantaire watches as his smile widens. “ _Oh_ , I didn’t— I love you, that’s what this feeling is. Grantaire, _I love you_.” 

Grantaire makes a noise high in his throat. “I— You— _What_.”

“I love you,” Enjolras says, seriously. “And I will leave if you ask me to, but can I stay, please? I won’t do anything, I just want to be here for you when you wake up.”

Grantaire is dreaming. He must be dreaming. That must be it.

“I’m going to wake up any moment soon,” Grantaire says, shutting his eyes tightly, “and when I do, I’ll realise that the past week has been a dream, and that this never actually happened, and then I’ll cry a little, because _what the fuck_ , and I’ll be alright with loving you and not having you love me back, I will.” He’s aware he’s babbling, and he’s also aware of the sharp pain in his chest, and the hot sting in his eyes. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, sounding wounded. “Please, open your eyes, please look at me.” 

Grantaire does, because it’s Enjolras asking.

“This is real,” Enjolras says, and presses a kiss to the left corner of his lips. “I’m real.” And another to the other corner. “And I love you,” he finishes, and presses his lips to Grantaire’s, keeping the kiss chaste, even though his lips linger for a long moment before he pulls away. He’s gentle with Grantaire, in the way that he’s never been, not even in Grantaire’s dreams, and it feels real, he can feel the weight of Enjolras’ eyes on him, feel the hot puff of Enjolras’ breath, can smell Enjolras’ aftershave on him. It feels real.

He curls his hand around Enjolras’ neck and tugs him down again, kisses him properly this time, licks across Enjolras’ lips and bites down, revelling in the moan Enjolras lets out. This is real, Enjolras wants him, Enjolras _loves_ him. 

“I do,” Enjolras breathes out, and Grantaire realises that he’s been talking out loud. “I do, please say you believe me.”

Grantaire nods, because he still can’t speak. He’s got so many emotions and so many things he wants to say, but he nods, keeps nodding and smiling, and fuck, maybe he’s even crying a little bit, but that’s okay, because Enjolras is smiling at him and pulling him close to press a kiss into his hair instead of running away like any other sane person would be.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire says finally, and he’s meaning to say it back, to tell Enjolras that he loves him too, that he’s loved him for forever, but when Enjolras lets out a contented hum, the only thing that comes out from Grantaire’s lips is, “I’m not actually down with flu.”

“We’ll tell Jehan that I made you feel better, instead,” Enjolras tells him, huffing out a laugh, and it sounds like Enjolras understands what he’s trying to say, even without him saying it, and _fuck_ , Grantaire is so in love with him that it’s stupid. “They’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com) on tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
